Beyond Fair Weather
by Collegekid2006
Summary: Shawn is missing...at least, Gus is convinced he is. But will anyone listen?
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't the first time Shawn hadn't shown up at Psych when he was supposed to.

It wasn't even the second or the third time.

Actually, according to my count, it was the 899 time Shawn had not been at Psych when he was supposed to be.

I didn't think much of it at first, of course. I just did what I always did…rolled my eyes and got to work without him. What choice did I have? I had every second of my day carefully planned out and I just didn't have the time to wait for Shawn to decide to drag his butt out of bed at the crack of 11 and come in to help me get the bills paid. I had to be at my _real_ job by 9:30 to get caught up on my route.

Besides, it's not like Shawn's all that helpful paying bills when he _is_ around. He wouldn't know a spreadsheet if it bit him in the nose.

It didn't take long for my initial irritation with his tardiness to wear off as I lost myself in the comforting numbers of the balance sheet. I actually completely forgot that he was even supposed to be there until 9:00, when according to my schedule I was supposed to leave for my real job.

I glanced down at my watch as the alarm went off, reminding to move on.

Shawn still wasn't there.

I stretched and turned the computer off, starting to wonder vaguely where he was.  
He hadn't had a date the night before or anything…

Quite the opposite, actually. He had tried to talk me into going over to his dad's house for dinner, but I had somehow managed to get out of it.

A rare win for me.

He hadn't been so lucky.

Still, he would have been out of there by 7:00 at the latest…

He never stayed at his dad's house later than 7:00 when I didn't go. I knew this because he inevitably called me as soon as he got home, venting about whatever it was his dad had done to tick him off that time.

I don't know why it hadn't occurred to me before, but that's the moment it struck me that

Shawn hadn't called last night when he got home after dinner.

Of course, it was possible his dad just hadn't pissed him off…

But, honestly. What were the odds of that?

He should have called…

I still wasn't concerned as I grabbed my cell phone and dialed.

I was more curious.

Where the heck was he…?

Probably sleeping…

His phone never rang. It just connected me immediately to his voicemail, which meant it was off.

I sighed and hung up, not bothering to leave him a message letting him know I had finished paying the bills and there was a stack of checks waiting for his signature. If he had let his battery die again, there wasn't any point. He wouldn't get it, anyway.

I locked up the office and drove to work. I decided to drive by his apartment on my way so I could leave a note on his door telling him to sign the checks I had left out on the desk and mail them off when he got up. Both our names are on the accounts, so I couldn't pay the bills without him.

"Can't you just forge it?" he always grumped when I made him sign checks. "I forge yours all the time!"

I pulled up in front of his building, but his bike wasn't in its usual parking space.

Maybe he'd gotten a date, after all…

But even as I stepped out of my car and made my way to his building, I didn't believe it.

His bike should have been there…

He should have been there…

His cell phone should have been on…

As I knocked on his door, getting no answer, I got a horrible, sinking feeling in my stomach.

Something was wrong.

Of course, it was possible I had just missed him and he was on his way to Psych, but I didn't believe that, either…

I sighed and looked down at my watch again.

I was already late for work, but it didn't matter now…

My carefully planned day had just been shot to Hell.

* * *

The first place I went when Shawn didn't answer his door was Henry's house.

Not that I would ever call him Henry to his face…

I'm not an idiot.

But if anyone knew where Shawn was, it was Henry.

His truck wasn't in the driveway when I pulled up. I could feel my stomach starting to twist itself into a jumbo pretzel as I jumped out of the Echo and jogged to the back door, desperate to find someone else to share my rapidly growing concern.

Even before I knocked on his door, only to get no response, I knew he was probably fishing. He had probably been out on his boat since before dawn, blissfully unaware anything was wrong…

"Blissful" being a relative term, of course.

In all the years I've known him, I've never actually seen Henry Spencer be "blissful" about anything.

I continued to pound on his door for a solid five minutes, praying that he was there…that he somehow just hadn't heard me before.

But he never came to the door.

Finally, I gave up and just faced the fact that he wasn't there and he wasn't coming back anytime soon. If he was fishing, he would be gone most of the day and he wouldn't have his cell phone on him.

I got back into the car and just sat in the driveway for a minute, staring blankly out the windshield as I wondered what the heck I was going to do next.

Who was even going to believe me that something was wrong?

I didn't have any proof…I didn't have any reason to think anything had happened to Shawn…

And yet, I knew he was in trouble.

Finally, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed, knowing there was only one other person besides Henry who would listen.

After two rings, she answered.

"Jules," I spoke quickly. "I need your help."


	2. Chapter 2

As soon as I hung up with Juliet, I drove to the precinct. It was already close to noon, but for once I wasn't thinking about the time.

For once, I wasn't worried about crossing the next item off my To Do list.

I was just thinking about Shawn.

I guess the truth is that I've always known it was my job to keep him alive, ever since we were kids and he decided it would be a good idea to try to parachute off his roof using an old blanket and shoelaces.

I couldn't talk him out of it, of course, but I somehow managed to convince him to wear a helmet.

Ever since then, I had been the only voice of reason he would occasionally listen to, even though most of the time he didn't hear a word I said. But I still had to try. I was the only one keeping him alive.

And now he was gone…

I wasn't there to make him wear his helmet this time.

Juliet was waiting in front of the station when I pulled up. I jumped out, slamming the door behind me as I ran up the steps.

"Gus! What's going on?" she asked as I reached her. "Have you heard from him yet?"

"No," I shook my head, following her back into the station. "His phone's turned off. I can't get a hold of his dad, either. He's probably fishing."

"Is there any chance…?" she started hesitantly, but didn't bother finishing the question.

We both knew it was a stupid question.

"Is there any chance Shawn willingly decided to spend the day fishing with his dad?" I snorted, crossing my arms. "No way, Jules. If he's on a boat right now, it's because he was abducted by pirates."

Juliet's brow furrowed as she nodded in agreement. She slid into her chair, spinning around back to her desk and flipping through some open files.

"I told Lassiter and the Chief about your hunch, but they both said what I knew they'd say. You can't fill out a missing person's report for at least twenty-four hours unless you have some kind of direct evidence a crime has been committed," she sighed, looking back up at me. "But I put an APB out on his bike. The State boys may or may not think it was stolen…if it's anywhere in California, they'll pick it up soon."

I leaned against her desk, nodding stiffly.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Though she never said it, I knew she was thinking the same thing I was.

We couldn't sit there and wait for the State boys to find his bike.

"I have a spare key to his apartment…" I murmured finally, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye. "It's in my desk at Psych."

She stood up, already grabbing her jacket off the chair and heading out the door. "Let's check it out."

We were halfway out of the precinct when Buzz spotted her. "Detective O'Hara!" he shouted, waving his arm through the air as he ran up to her.

"What is it, Buzz?" she sighed, pausing.

He didn't respond at first. He looked at me, then at her, hesitating before finally opening his mouth again. "Uh…"

My heart stopped before he uttered another syllable.

I may not have Shawn's fake psychic powers, but I knew what was coming next.

"What, Buzz?" Juliet demanded quietly, though I could tell from the look on her face that she already knew what was coming, too.

Buzz sighed, shaking his head. "The State boys just called," he mumbled, looking down at the floor. "They found Shawn's bike."

"Where?" I asked, cutting in before Juliet could say anything.

Buzz looked back up. "On the side of the highway a few miles out of the city limits…it was abandoned. There was no sign of Shawn."


	3. Chapter 3

For a moment, I swear time just stopped.

I don't really believe it myself even as I write this, but I remember it clearly. At that moment, I glanced at a clock across the precinct, and the second-hand was frozen in place.

It immediately unfroze, however, when Chief Vick stepped out of her office and spotted the three of us across the room.

"Detective O'Hara," she called, motioning us into her office. "Mr. Guster. I need to talk to you."

She nodded at Buzz. "Officer McNab, I think Detective Lassiter was looking for you."

"Right, Chief." Buzz nodded, quickly scuttling off as Juliet and I followed the Chief.

She closed the door behind us and crossed to her chair. As she sat down, my eyes fell on a paperweight that rarely ever moved from its position near the center of her desk.

Every time she sits down, I always flinch just a little. Someday, she's going to move that paperweight and discover the inch-deep gash in her desk from the time Shawn decided it would be a good idea to play flag football in the precinct…even though we didn't have flags or a football on-hand.

It's a long story…but I don't want to be there the day she finally sees it.

I'm not taking the heat for that one.

She leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming on the arms thoughtfully. I had seen that look in her eyes a thousand times before. It was the stern, commanding look she always got when she was about to tell me and Shawn to butt out of a case we weren't involved in.

"Detective O'Hara," she began, leaning forward. "I want you on the case. Now that we have his bike…"

"I'm on it, Chief." Juliet nodded. "Gus and I were just--"

Vick shook her head sharply, cutting off the thought before Juliet could even finish it.

Juliet glanced at me out of the corner of my eye, seeing my fists already starting to clench.

We both knew what was coming.

"Mr. Guster, I want you to stay out of it," she ordered, turning her gaze on me next. "It's an official police investigation now, but we still don't know for a fact anything is wrong. According to you, Henry Spencer is the last person who would've seen him…and we can't find him, either."

I blinked in surprise. "Isn't he fishing?"

"No," Vick shook her head. "He's not. When they found Shawn's motorcycle, I had a patrol car drive by the marina. His boat is still there, and it hasn't moved all morning."

"Then where is he?" I asked, suddenly confused. "His truck's gone!"

"I don't know," she murmured. "I've been calling his house and his cell phone…he's not answering either. Until we find him, I want this case kept quiet. Unless we talk to him, we won't know what time Shawn left his house or where he was going or who he was with. And I don't want it leaking to the press that we have a missing psychic before we notify the next of kin…especially when that next of kin is Henry Spencer."

She turned back to Juliet. "Which means I want you looking into it _quietly_. And I want Mr. Guster to stay out of it. Just until we know what we're dealing with."

She stood up, waving us out the door. "I know you're concerned about him, Mr. Guster," she added as Juliet and I walked out of the office, as if that was supposed to make being told to back off finding my best friend okay. "But let us handle it. If something happened to him, we'll find out what it is."

Juliet looked at me as we shut the door to the Chief's office behind us.

"I'm sorry, Gus," she said quietly. "I'll call you later let you know what's going on with the investigation."

I raised an eyebrow at her. "You don't seriously think I'm backing off just because the Chief told me to, do you?" I snorted.

She smiled. "No."

"Good," I nodded, already walking away. "Because I'm not. I'm the only one who knew he was missing, and I'm going to find him!"


	4. Chapter 4

For a split second, I was relieved when I pulled up to Psych and saw that the front door was hanging open.

For that split-second, I actually allowed myself to think it was Shawn.

That second quickly passed, however; replaced by the now all too familiar sinking feeling in my gut that kept telling me something was very, very wrong.

_Someone_ was in there…

I quickly scanned the floor of my car for some kind of weapon, but all I could find was a candy bar wrapper Shawn had dropped, thirty-three cents in loose change (which I assume Shawn also dropped, though I can't prove it) and a Central Coast Pharmaceuticals pencil.

Of the three, the pencil seemed like my best bet.

It also reminded me that after I kicked some intruder butt, I should probably call the office and tell them I wasn't coming in.

I clutched the pencil, brandishing it over my head like a knife as I stepped out of the car and charged into the Psych office, screaming at the top of my lungs, hoping that I could take the intruder by surprise just long enough to not get shot in the head.

Three steps in, I stopped dead in my tracks. Sitting there at my desk rifling through my drawers, was Henry.

He glanced up at me, not even a little bit frightened by my entrance. "For God's sake, Gus," he growled, slamming a drawer. "What the hell were you planning on doing with that pencil? My taxes?"

"No," I mumbled, quickly cramming it into my pocket. "Where have you been? I've been calling for hours. Shawn—"

"I know."

That's all he said.

"I know."

And yet, in those two words I could read everything. I didn't have to tell him Shawn was missing. I didn't have to tell him about the motorcycle. He already knew everything, and he was working on it.

He opened another drawer, ripping out all the files inside and tossing them on my desk.

"How?" I asked, walking around to his side of the desk.

He grunted, stopping his work long enough to glance up at me. "Think about it, Gus. What's the first thing a state cop does when he finds an abandoned vehicle on the side of the road?"

"Run the plates?" I guessed.

Henry nodded. "Bill Harmon is a friend of mine. He found Shawn's bike around five o'clock this morning. When he ran the plates and found out who it belonged to, he called me first. I told him not to call it in until I had a chance to look into it myself. When someone put an APB out on it, though, he didn't have a choice. He had to call it in."

"But why didn't you want the police to look into it?" I asked, perching on the edge of the desk.

His jaw clenched. "They can look into it," he snapped. "But he's _my_ son. I'm not going to sit here and listen to Karen tell me to stay out of it and let her handle it. I'm not going to sit back and wait for them to tell me what happened to him. So, I turned off my phone and ignored her messages. If she can't find me, she can't get in my way while I figure it out."

I nodded, understanding perfectly. "So…what have you learned?" I asked.

He looked at me for a moment, his piercing eyes burrowing into my skull just like when I was a kid and he tried to pry information out of me.

Usually, it didn't work.

Usually…

Finally, he shook his head and stood up, leaving the files where they were. "Stay out of it, Gus."

I blinked in surprise, knowing there was no way he was serious. After twenty-seven years of friendship, he couldn't possibly expect me to sit on my hands.

For a moment, I was too stunned to say anything. He pushed past me, on his way out the door. He was almost gone when I finally found my voice.

"No."

It was all I could think of to say. He turned around slowly, his eyes narrowing at me. Usually, that look is enough to make my blood run cold, but this time I was too pissed off to be afraid of him.

"Gus--"

"No!" I snapped again, my anger at being told by the entire world to back off finding my best friend finally reaching its breaking point. "I didn't listen to the cops, and I'm not going to listen to you! Shawn's my best friend, and if you think I'm not--"

"Gus!" Henry cut in sharply, his voice low and dangerous now. "Listen to me. Just stay out of it."

"No!"

"You're not his father."

This was more than I was going to take from anyone, even Henry Spencer. "No, I'm not!" I agreed bitterly, shouting at him louder than I had ever dared to before. "But who the hell do you think keeps him alive all those times when he won't even talk to you?"

I didn't care that the words would be like a knife in his back.

I didn't care that I probably couldn't have inflicted more damage on the man if I lit him on fire.

For a long moment, Henry didn't say anything. I could see him inhaling sharply, fighting his urge to shout back at me.

For once, I wouldn't have blamed him.

"You haven't seen the bike yet, Gus." He said finally, his voice quiet now. "I went to the scene when Bill called me. It wasn't just abandoned. It was smashed to bits. Someone hit him with a damn car, Gus. On purpose. There weren't any skid marks…no signs of an accident at all. Someone tried to kill him…and they probably did."

I stepped back, shaking my head adamantly, my heart pounding.

If Henry thought he was dead, there wasn't any hope left.

"No!" I said firmly, still refusing to believe it.

Henry just nodded silently.

Only then did I realize why he wanted me to stay out of it, why he didn't want the cops to get involved.

He wasn't looking for his son. He was looking for his son's murderers…and when he found them, he was going to kill them.


	5. Chapter 5

Henry's eyes locked with mine, but only for a moment.

Even before I said anything, he knew I had figured him out.

"Henry…" I started, the name sounding foreign as it came out of my mouth.

It felt so wrong, calling him Henry…but I was talking to a man on the verge of cold-blooded murder. It seemed like a good time to get on a first-name basis.

He glared at me sharply, but he didn't have to. I didn't actually have a way to finish that sentence. What was I supposed to say? That he wasn't supposed to kill whoever had murdered his son and my best friend?

It sounded like a weak argument, even in my own head.

"What?" he demanded after a long silence.

I opened my mouth, still searching for the right thing to say…but nothing came.

"He's not dead," I said finally. "He can't be dead."

Henry stiffened, but didn't say anything. Finally, he just spun on his heel and marched out of the office without another word.

I quickly followed him across the parking lot.

"You can't take your truck." I told him, still a few yards away. He had just reached his truck and opened the door, but he stopped short of climbing in.

"Why the hell not?" he demanded, leaving his door hanging open as he turned back to look at me.

"Because Chief Vick is looking for you," I reminded him. "Which means every cop on patrol will be keeping an eye out for your truck. If you really want them to stay out of your way while you hunt the bastards down, you have to stay under the radar. Which means you need my car. Which means you need me."

He blinked as the logic of it settled in.

For once, he didn't have an argument.

He slammed his door shut, scowling. "I told you to stay out of it, Gus," he muttered.

"Well, that's not going to happen," I snorted, fishing my keys out of my pocket, watching out of the corner of my eye as I walked towards my car.

He didn't move right away, but his eyes followed me as I crossed the parking lot and unlocked my car. I got in, clutching the wheel while I waited for a tense moment for him to do something.

_Anything…_

He just continued to stand completely motionless in the middle of the parking lot, watching my every move.

Finally, he knew he didn't have a choice. He grunted and walked around to the other side of the car, getting into the passenger's seat with a bitter scowl.

"We're going to find him." I said quietly, not sure if I was trying to reassure Henry or myself. "We're going to find him…"

He nodded stiffly. "But if we don't, Gus…you can't stop me," he said firmly, his ice cold eyes meeting mine in the rear view mirror. "You won't stop me."

I smiled palely, shrugging as I pulled out of the parking lot. "We'll see…" I murmured. "I'm the only voice of reason Spencers will sometimes listen to."


	6. Chapter 6

I didn't know where we were going as we pulled out of the parking lot, and for some reason I was suddenly scared to ask.

Fortunately, my phone rang before the pregnant silence could linger too long.

I knew it was Juliet even before I answered it, even before I saw the caller ID.

For the first time, it didn't even occur to me to think it might be Shawn.

"What's up, Jules?" I asked.

"Gus," she spoke quickly, the terror already audible in her voice in that single word. "I'm at the scene…whoever called it in didn't give us the whole story."

She hesitated before pressing on, and when she finally managed to force herself to continue I could hear her straining to keep her voice from cracking. "The bike's destroyed. It looks like it got creamed by a semi. I can't keep it quiet anymore, Gus. I called in the crime scene unit…and we have to find Mr. Spencer. Now. It's going to hit the papers tomorrow morning. Do you have _any_ idea where he is?"

"No…" I replied slowly, glancing cautiously at Henry out of the corner of my eye, knowing he could hear every word of the conversation. "I have no idea where he is."

She sighed heavily. "Gus…it's a potential homicide now."

My fingers tightened around the phone as my teeth clenched. "I know."

There was a long pause on the line as the thought hung between us. It was too unspeakable to allow us to continue with the conversation until it had completely passed.

"I'm going back to the station in a few minutes," she told me. "There's not much more for me to do here, unless I want to stand around and watch the forensics team bag every beer can and apple core on the side of the highway. I'm going to start checking into some of Shawn's open cases…there aren't any skid marks. Maybe he got too close... Did you find anything at his apartment?"

"Uh…" I stammered, remembering for the first time since seeing Henry behind my desk the reason I had gone to Psych in the first place. "I haven't gotten there yet."

"What have you been _doing?_" she demanded, suddenly sounding almost angry. "It's been an hour! I thought you working on the case!"

"I am!" I shot back. "I'm on my way now!"

She sighed, the irritation in her tone melting into pleading desperation. "Call me if you find anything, Gus. If he's still alive, he doesn't have much time."

"I know."

I shut my phone and slammed on the breaks, spinning the wheel as hard as I could. The tires squealed on the pavement as I made the only illegal U-turn of my entire life.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was grateful in that moment that Henry was retired. If he could have, he would have written me a ticket.

Probably two…I was also speeding.

"Where--?" he started to ask, but I answered before he could finish.

"Back to Psych," I said. "I have a spare key to Shawn's apartment."

"Key?" Henry snorted. "Who the hell needs a key? I picked his cheap lock after I went to the scene. There's nothing there, Gus. Nothing that tells where he was going or who was meeting or who ran him down."

"Well, we're going back." I informed him.

"Why?" Henry demanded. "I told you—"

"Because!" I snapped. "You probably didn't check his freezer!"

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, we were in Shawn's apartment.

It was a dump, like always, though this time I wasn't sure if it was because he's a slob or because his dad had ripped it apart looking for clues.

Of course, I didn't have to rip it apart. I stepped over the scattered mess and went directly to the freezer. Henry followed closely behind.

"Gus! What the hell does his freezer--?" he demanded again, but stopped when I opened the freezer door.

Inside were about twenty manila file folders, each with random papers and photos sticking out of them and nothing else.

Not even ice.

"What the hell?" Henry muttered, reaching in and grabbing the one on top.

"It's his filing cabinet," I rolled my eyes. "It started with some lame joke about freezing my assets that went too far…"

When I saw the confused, almost disgusted, look on his face I stopped the explanation.

There really wasn't a way to explain it without coming out looking like an idiot.

"Anyway…" I pressed on, clearing my throat as I took out the rest of the files and shut the freezer door again. "This is where he keeps all his files on active cases."

I sat down at the table and began to flip through them, looking for any promising leads. Henry stared at me for a moment, still trying to process the freezer file cabinet, but finally rolled his eyes and joined me.

He picked one up as he slid into the seat on the other side of the table and sighed. "They're cold," he muttered, opening it almost bitterly.

I laughed, moving onto my second file.

After about five minutes, Henry looked up. "Gus…what about Gary Chapman?" he asked me, handing me the file he was flipping through.

I took it, my brow furrowing as I tried to recall the case. "I remember that one…" I murmured. "The Chief gave it to us last week. Someone burned down a minimart. Chapman was the main suspect. He worked there part-time."

"And he has a record," Henry nodded. "He assaulted his boss a few years ago, served six months."

"And he got in a fight with the manager day the mart burned down," I remembered, standing up and grabbing my phone out of my pocket. "That's why he was on the suspect list."

I went to dial, but Henry grabbed my wrist before I could hit a single number. "What the hell are you doing?" he snapped, his voice suddenly stone cold.

I almost dropped the phone in surprise. "What do you mean? I'm calling Jules. I have to tell her we have a lead."

Henry's jaw clenched as his grip around my wrist tightened.

"Drop the phone, Gus."


	7. Chapter 7

"Mr. Spencer…" I started, barely noticing I had dropped the first name terms.

His sharp glare cut me off right there.

"Gus," he growled, his eyes flashing spitefully. "I told you you weren't going to stop me. Drop the damn phone."

I pulled my hand away, breaking free of his grasp. "No!" I told him firmly as I took a few steps back, knowing even as I said it that I was taking my life in my hands. "I'm not going to let you--"

"Yes, you are."

"No," I shook my head solemnly, not flinching at his anger for perhaps only the second time in my entire life. "I'm not."

Our eyes locked, and I could tell that the defiant glint on my own glare was matching his.

I also knew that neither of us were backing down this time.

I sighed, taking a cautious step towards him again, making sure I was still out of his reach. "We don't know anything about this guy. We don't know if he's involved or not. We don't even know he burned down the minimart!"

"Give me five minutes alone with him," Henry returned. "And I'll find out. Everything."

I stared at him in complete disbelief, suddenly doubting my ability to talk him out of murder.

What on earth had ever made me think I could talk Henry Spencer out of anything?

I sighed, shaking my head in defeat.

He was right. I couldn't stop him.

"We're still looking for Shawn, aren't we?" I snapped, reaching the limit of my skills as the Spencer's personal Jiminy Cricket. "If he's still alive and if this guy really did it, do you really think two random civilians turning up on his doorstep are going to get anything out of him? All you can do it threaten to kill him, and if he did it he'll take death over telling you anything. I promise. And we'll never know what happened to Shawn, or if we could have saved him."

Henry's fists started to tighten subtly, but it was enough to let me know I was beginning to crack through the hard skull.

"Or he'll just call the cops and get you tossed in jail for assault," I pressed on, playing the only card I had left. "And if you kill him before he does that, you'll spend the rest of your life in jail. If you're really willing to do that, you'd better be sure it's for killing the right guy. Let me call Jules. Give her a few hours to look into it, see what she turns up. You know how the police department works. Even if he's the guy, they won't be able to arrest him for at least a few days. You have time to do whatever you have to do. Just let me make sure he's the guy first."

For a moment, I wasn't sure if it worked.

For a moment, I could see him calculating what it would take for him to take me out and get the phone away from me.

We both knew it wouldn't be much.

Finally, he nodded stiffly. "You're not calling her," he announced, pushing ahead of me towards the apartment door. "We're going to the station. They'll have the whole file, including his prior arrest. I want every damn detail on him you can find on this bastard."

I quickly followed him, shutting the door behind me and heaving a huge sigh of relief.

For the moment, there wouldn't be another murder.

It wasn't much, but it was a small victory.

At that point, I was taking every victory I could get.

* * *

I parked a block away from the station so no one would see Henry in my car.

He still insisted he wasn't going to talk to Chief Vick, so I left him there while I went in to snoop for information.

The first person I saw upon entering was Buzz. He saw me across the precinct and smiled and waved.

"Hi, Gus," he greeted happily, his face then growing sincere and somber as he figured out why I was there. "Are you here about Shawn?"

"Yeah," I nodded, holding up the file I had brought with me. "I think I have a lead for Juliet. Where is she?"

"In Interrogation Room A," he told me, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb.

He looked around to make sure no one else was in earshot, then leaned in close. "I think she has a suspect."

"Already?" I asked, my eyebrows arching in surprise.

"Yeah," he nodded. "At least, I think she does. She's been in there for a while."

"McNab!" Lassiter bellowed from the other side of the station. "Where the hell is that report?"

Buzz jumped, quickly sprinting towards the fuming detective before I could ask him who this suspect was.

I glanced around, crouching down low as I activated Stealth Mode.

Who needed Buzz? It's not like Shawn was the only one who knew how to sneak around the precinct.

I ducked behind a desk and made my way towards the interrogation room. I expected to find Juliet behind the glass, going head-to-head with some hardened criminal.

Someone who might have actually wanted Shawn dead.

Someone that could divert Henry's attention, if only for a little while…

But that's not what I found. She was sitting at the table, looking relaxed as she talked with a meek-looking man in his mid-forties and bored looking teenager.

The man was short, scrawny and anything but intimidating.

The kid wasn't barely five feet tall and as far as I could tell no more dangerous than his My Chemical Romance t-shirt.

They definitely weren't suspects.

Juliet was even smiling at them as she passed the paper she was holding across the table to the man.

I stared at her, the anger welling up in my stomach again.

How could she be smiling when Shawn was still missing?

I glanced around to make sure no one was around, then hit the speaker button so I could hear what was being said.

"Well, I guess that's it…" Juliet was saying as she stood up, shaking hands with the man. "I'll file a copy of the report. Thank you so much for coming down."

It sounded so casual…so friendly.

Like she had nothing better in the world to do but sit around and chat.

Like she wasn't supposed to be investigating the disappearance of my best friend.

The man and the kid stood up, too, and all three of them walked to the door. When they stepped back out in the precinct, the man and the kid both pushed past me without so much as looking at me, but Juliet stopped short, looking surprised to see me.

"Gus!" she exclaimed, her smile quickly fading. "What are you doing here?"

At first, I didn't answer.

For some reason I couldn't explain, I was still angry about seeing that smile.

She shouldn't have been smiling.

"Nothing," I snapped, throwing the file down on the floor. "I had a lead, but apparently you have better things to do than find Shawn!"

I spun on my heel to march away, too angry to even look at her.

Was I the only one who cared that Shawn was running out of time?

She grabbed my shoulder, almost gently, and turned me back around.

She wasn't smiling any more.

"Gus, do you have any idea who those people were?" she asked me, her voice hushed.

"No, but they sure didn't look like suspects in an attempted homicide!" I shot back. "You told me you were working on it, Jules! You're supposed to be trying to find Shawn!"  
"I am!" she insisted, handing me the report she had in her hands. "That's Bill Donovan and his son, Mike. Mike took his dad's car to go study at a friend's house last night a few miles up the road from where Shawn was hit. When he came out, the car was gone. His dad reported it stolen this morning. Whoever stole it might have used it to hit Shawn. It's the only lead I have, Gus." She told me, her normally gentle voice suddenly getting an icy edge. "I had to start somewhere. I'm doing everything I can. I promise."

"You were smiling!" I shouted, as if that smile had killed Shawn.

She blinked in surprise. "I was conducting an investigation," she informed me, almost coldly. "They're victims, too, Gus. What did you want me to do? Beat their statement out of them? Would that find Shawn any faster?"

"It'd be _something!_" I shouted, this time really storming away. "At least you wouldn't be wasting time!"

She called something after me, but I didn't listen.

I couldn't listen.

Henry was right. The police weren't going to find Shawn.

Not like that.

It was up to me.

As I slammed the precinct door behind me, I suddenly realized I didn't want to stop Henry anymore.

Now I wanted to be the one to take the shot.


	8. Chapter 8

I slammed the door as I got back into the car, startling Henry, who had been staring blankly out the window.

"What did you find out?" he demanded, almost before I had a chance to buckle my seatbelt. "Is he the guy or not?"

"I don't know," I muttered, still seething with bitter rage, seeing that smile plastered across Juliet's face in my mind.

Why was that smile bugging me so much?

"What the hell do you mean you don't know?" Henry snapped impatiently. "For God's sake, what were you doing in there? You didn't even come back with a file!"

"I know I didn't come back with a file!" I shouted right back at him, pulling the crumpled report out of my pocket and throwing it at him. "The one other person who was supposed to give a damn Shawn's missing was too busy tracking down stolen cars!"

That was when it struck me.

I knew what was bothering me about seeing Juliet smile like that when she was supposed to be looking for Shawn.

She and Shawn had spent years flirting when they thought no one was looking, almost as if it was something to be ashamed of. Usually, I pretended not to notice, unless I was giving Shawn a hard time about it…but I had always assumed that somewhere underneath all the joking and coy sideways glances, there was something there.

That she really cared about him.

That she would have his back when I couldn't.

That she wouldn't be smiling the day she found his bike smashed to bits.

"Stolen car?" Henry murmured, ripping me from my revelation as he caught the report, smoothing it out against the dashboard. He raised an eyebrow as he quickly scanned it over. "An Impala? Who the hell would want to steal an Impala?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, my anger slowly subsiding. "Some kid doesn't know what a lock is. It was stolen a few miles up the road from where Shawn's bike was found. Juliet thought whoever stole it might have used it to run him down. She was following up the lead. I didn't even get a chance to tell her about Chapman."

Henry shook his head, crumpling the paper again and throwing it onto the floor of my car. "It's a dead end. Hitting him must have been a crime of opportunity. They couldn't have known Shawn would be riding his bike on that road at that time. He wasn't supposed to be there. They had to have been following him and taken their chance when they saw it. They couldn't have planned it far enough ahead to steal a car."

I glanced over at him, really only hearing one thing he said. "What do you mean he wasn't supposed to be there?" I asked, knowing it meant something.

This was Henry.

_Everything_ meant something.

He stiffened, but didn't answer right away.

"Where was he supposed to be?" I pressed on, not about to let the issue drop that easily.

He sighed, his eyes growing faraway again as he stared out the window. "He wasn't supposed to be riding his bike," he said finally. "He was supposed to be having dinner at my house…but I canceled."

I blinked in surprise.

Shawn hadn't told me that.

"You what?"

"I canceled," he repeated, his voice low but suddenly more pained than angry. "At the last minute. My back was acting up…and I knew he didn't want to come, anyway…and I just didn't want to deal with…" He paused, searching for the right word to complete his thought. "…_it_. I just didn't feel like dealing with it, Gus. So I told him not to come. And he didn't even argue with me. First time in the kid's life he didn't fight me tooth and nail."

I opened my mouth to say something, even though I had absolutely no idea what to say, but my phone rang before I could even try.

"Gus!" Juliet spoke on the other end as soon as I picked up, not even letting me get a word out before jumping right in. "That file you dropped on the floor! Chapman! Why didn't you tell me you had a lead?"

"I--" I began to explain, but she wasn't really interested.

"I pulled his record, Gus!" she pressed on, her voice rising excitedly.

She had something.

"What about it?" I asked, already feeling my pulse starting to quicken.

"And that arrest he had for assault on his boss…it wasn't just a fight. He tried to run him over with his car." She told me. "But it was dark and he missed…the DA couldn't prove it wasn't just an accident, so they pled down to simple assault."

"He tried to hit his boss with a car?" I repeated, glancing at Henry out of the corner of my eye.

His head lifted, his eyes suddenly alert and focused again.

"Yeah…" she confirmed, then hesitated for a moment.

When she spoke again, the excitement was completely gone from her tone.

"I was doing my job, Gus," she said quietly. "I was smiling because it's my job. I can't scowl and shout at every victim just because I'm having the worst day of my life. But that doesn't mean--"

"I know, Jules." I cut her off, honestly meaning it. "I know it doesn't."

There was another pause on the line.

"I puked, Gus," she said finally. I could hear the exhaustion in her voice now, the fear.

Why hadn't I heard it before?

Why hadn't I seen it before?

"You what?"

"I puked…at the scene. When I saw his bike. I've never done that before. Ever. Not even when I was a rookie…so if you think I don't care--"

"I don't think that, Jules," I assured her, suddenly feeling guilty for not seeing it earlier. "I'm sorry. I just…"

Now it was my turn to hesitate.

"I know," she mumbled, saving me having to actually say it. "Me, too. I'm going to pick up Chapman and bring him in for questioning. I'll call you when I know more. We're going to find him, Gus. He's going to be okay."

"I know."

I hung up and turned to Henry, who was watching me with rapt attention.

"Is he the guy?" he growled, any emotion other than pure rage completely banished from his face now.

"Yeah," I nodded. "He's the guy."


	9. Chapter 9

"If she's picking him up for questioning," Henry told me as I pulled back onto the road. "We have less than a half-hour to find him."

I nodded stiffly, my stomach lurching as I realized I had just tacitly agreed to murder even though I wasn't pissed-off with Juliet anymore.

I was back to just desperately wanting to find my best friend.

Of course, I didn't have much choice now…

"I don't have his address," I told him honestly, searching for any diversion I could cling to.

Henry just shrugged, his shoulders sagging as his eyes focused intently on the road ahead of us. "I remember it from the file."

"Right."

We drove in silence for the next eight-point-six miles. I couldn't take my eyes off the odometer the entire time, knowing each click was bringing me closer to _something_.

I wanted it to be finding Shawn, but I somehow suspected it was a life sentence for criminal conspiracy.

Either way, I knew I couldn't turn back now.

"Stop here," Henry told me suddenly. "Pull over."

I listened without even thinking about it, just out of instinct. I wasn't used to questioning Henry's commands.

I turned the motor off and looked over at him. His eyes had lost their grim determination, replaced instead by a kind of sorrowful dread. Somewhere inside him, though he would never admit it and I would never be stupid enough to point it out to him, he didn't want to get out of the car anymore than I did.

Killing Chapman in cold blood meant he was giving up.

Giving up meant his son was dead.

In that moment, I realized he wasn't willing to face that possibility anymore than I was.

He exhaled slowly, seemingly to steel himself before opening the door and stepping out. He leaned back in the window, the dark cloud passing over his impassive face once more.

"You can't stop me, Gus. Just go home. I don't want you involved."

I shook my head firmly, struggling to stop myself from throwing up as I followed him out of the car.

"I'm coming," I told him.

My time was quickly running out, but I had to believe I could still stop him.

I had to believe that when push came to shove, I wouldn't have to. Henry wouldn't go through with it.

Not the man who had trained his son to always do the right thing.

Not the man who bled blue and still kept his badge on him after being retired for over a decade.

Not the man who had been my Scout leader and who even now was telling me to leave before I got in as deep as him.

Not Henry Spencer.

We reached the door. Henry raised his hand, his jaw clenching a little tighter as it hovered in the air for a moment, on the verge of knocking but not quite able to go through with it.

"We don't have to do this," I told him quietly. "Juliet will be here soon. We can let her--"

"No."

He knocked, the sound tearing through my body like a knife wound.

He was committed now.

It was too late.

The door opened a few seconds later. The man who answered blinked at us, clearly confused by the two strangers on his doorstep.

"Can I help you?" he asked, opening it all the way.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. I didn't even see the gun until it was in Henry's hand, pressed against the man's forehead.

"Where the hell is my son?"


	10. Chapter 10

Chapman didn't have a chance to react. His lips parted in a silent protest, but before he could utter a cry Henry had pushed him back into the house.

I was just a step behind them. I quickly shut the door behind us, silently praying Juliet would arrive soon.

It didn't look like Henry was going to back down.

"Where the hell is my son?" he shouted this time, backing Chapman into the wall. I could see the gun trembling slightly in his hand, but his eyes were nothing but ice.

For only the third time in my life, I was truly petrified of him, convinced to my soul he was about to kill.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Chapman stammered.

All the blood had drained from his face and his knees were quaking so badly he could barely stand up. Henry had pressed the gun to his forehead again, the barrel leaving a small, circular indentation in his flesh.

"Where the hell is my son?" Henry shouted again when Chapman proved to be too terrified to respond.

"I don't know anything about any kid!" he protested finally, looking over at me with wild, desperate eyes. "I swear! What the hell are you talking about?"

When I saw the twisted look of complete helplessness and utter terror etched across his face, there suddenly wasn't a doubt in my mind that he was telling the truth.

If he had any idea what we wanted, he would have given it to us in a heartbeat.

I could tell by the sudden flash in Henry's eye that he saw it, too, but he wasn't giving up on Chapman that easily. He was our only lead. It had to be him.

Henry _wanted_ it to be him.

His finger grazed the trigger, his entire body tensing like a coiled spring about to release. "Damn it! You know what I'm talking about!" he shouted. "You ran my son over with your damn car!"

"I did _what?_" Chapman stammered, trying to step back away from the gun. He had no where to go, however. He hit the wall that was directly behind him, tripping over his own foot and landing on the floor, still staring up at the gun with wide, terrified eyes. Henry stared unblinkingly down at him, not ready to relinquish the weapon or his vengeance just yet. "When? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Last night!" Henry snapped. "He was going to prove you burned down the minimart so you ran him down and dumped his body somewhere! I want to know where!"

"Last night?" Chapman stuttered, raising his hands in the air. "But I haven't even gone anywhere in a few days! Check my car! The engine's stone cold! It's in the garage…I haven't been anywhere since the minimart burned down. Where am I going to go? I don't have a job now! I don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

Henry's grip on the gun tightened. I could read every emotion, every thought, that was running through his mind.

He didn't want to check the garage. He already knew Chapman was telling the truth. His car was there, the engine was cold, and there wasn't any body damage.

And Chapman couldn't have stolen a car to hit Shawn, because he couldn't have planned the crime that far in advance.

Our only lead was officially dead.

But if our lead was dead, it meant we were no closer to finding Shawn than we had been five hours ago.

Which meant we had just wasted five hours that could have been the difference between finding Shawn alive and finding him dead.

Which meant our lead couldn't be dead.

Which meant Chapman had to be our guy.

There just wasn't any other choice.

Henry slowly lowered the gun, finally blinking.

"Henry," I said quietly, stepping towards him. "You know Juliet's on her way. You're going to have a lot of explaining to do if she finds you here threatening her chief suspect."

Henry didn't move. He was frozen in place, still glaring at the cowering man on the floor in front of him. I reached out and grabbed his shoulder. His head snapped around, his eyes narrowing at me now.

"He didn't do it," I told him. "Look at him. You know he didn't do it."

From the floor, Chapman nodded fervently, the color slowly starting to return to his face. "I didn't hit anyone with a car! I swear! I don't know--"

But Henry didn't wait for him to finish. He shook my hand off him violently and spun on his heel, marching out of the hallway towards the front door. I heard the door slam behind him as he left the house.

He was already at the car by the time I caught up with him. We both climbed in silently, for a long moment just sitting and staring out the window.

He dropped the gun he was still clutching on the floor.

"It wasn't him, Gus," he said quietly. "It wasn't him."

"I know."

He looked back up at me, but didn't say anything else.

He didn't have to.

We were both thinking the same thing.

We were back to square negative one.


	11. Chapter 11

We didn't have anywhere else to go.

We didn't have any other leads to follow-up on. I may not be a retired cop or a fake psychic detective, but even I know that when every lead you have dries up, sometimes all you can do is go back to the scene and start again from scratch.

The only problem with that this time was that I wasn't too eager to see the spot where my best friend was most likely killed, and I knew Henry wouldn't be too thrilled with the idea, either.

I half expected Henry to sock me when I finally brought it up as I pulled away from the curb.

"There's nothing there, Gus," he told me, shaking his head. "I was already there."

"But you might have missed something," I pointed out, watching cautiously as his fingers tensed into fists at the suggestion. "You were still in shock…it would've been easy to--"

"I didn't miss anything!" he snapped, his knuckles bone-white now. "Damn it, Gus! He's my son! I wouldn't miss--!"

"Okay," I agreed quietly. "You didn't miss anything. But we're only a few minutes ahead of Juliet. If we don't go to the scene and pick up a new scent, the only other option we have is to call her right now and tell her that Chapman isn't the guy. We need a new lead, and if it doesn't come from the scene it's going to have to come from the official investigator. And if I call her, I'm going to have to tell her how I know Chapman isn't our guy."

I made the threat sound as neutral and even affable as I could under the circumstances, but Henry picked up on it immediately.

"I was already there, Gus," he protested, almost weakly, and I was suddenly struck by how old her looked. He had dark circles surrounding his eyes, and his shoulders were stooped with the air of a man who was completely defeated. He was still breathing, still cognizant, but with each passing moment, something inside him was dying before my eyes.

I glanced at myself in the rear view mirror, noting ruefully that I didn't look much better.

"We have to go back," I insisted quietly.

"I know," Henry nodded with an agonizing sigh. "I know."

With his directions, I arrived at the scene about fifteen minutes later. Of course, from the outside you couldn't tell it was a crime scene at all. There was no yellow police tape and the destroyed bike had, thankfully, been towed away long before we got there. For all intents and purposes, it was just a quiet, rural strip of highway a few miles outside the city limits.

I pulled over, my heart in my throat as I stepped out of the car. I tried not to imagine what Henry had seen a few hours ago, but I could tell from the look on his face that it had been every bit as bad as I imagined.

I didn't even have to wonder if I would have puked like Juliet.

I walked along the shoulder, my eyes skimming the ground for signs of the crash. I finally came upon a flattened spot in the grass a few yards off the road with two deep tire grooves running through it and a patch of dirt about a meter wide where the grass had been ripped up, almost as if a large metallic object that had gone tearing through it.

For the first time in our investigation, Henry was behind me, hanging back as long as possible. He came alongside me a moment later, staring down at the tire tracks.

"It wasn't a van or a truck," he said quietly. "They're not big enough."

I nodded, still not able to fully process what I was seeing. The only thought that kept pulsing through my mind was that there wasn't any blood.

None…

Maybe Shawn was still alive…

I didn't bother running through the statistics on the odds of surviving a motorcycle accident. I knew them by heart, but for once I wasn't finding any comfort in the numbers.

We stared at the patch of torn earth, but there weren't any clues.

There wasn't anything.

I turned back to the highway without another word, kicking at a stray beer can as I walked back to the Echo, completely at a loss for what we were going to do next.

I kicked it again, sending it skipping across the blacktop. It struck another discarded beer can, the metals striking hollowly against each other.

I stared down at them, trying to see them like Shawn would see them.

Trying to see the cans beneath the cans…

I had seen him strip away the obvious and see everything just beneath the surface so many times…

There was always something beneath the surface…

I blinked as a thought hit me in the head like a brick.

A thought that hadn't occurred to me before.

"Henry," I said slowly, turning around. He was a few steps behind me still. He looked up from the ground.

"What?"

I looked back down at the can, something starting to click into place in my mind.

"What if we were wrong the whole time…?" I asked, stooping down and picking up one of the crushed cans. "What if it wasn't a murder at all? What if it was just an accident?"


	12. Chapter 12

Henry stared at the crushed beer can in my hand. I could see his mind turning over the suggestion, rejecting it before it even had a chance to sink in.

"It wasn't an accident, Gus!" he snapped. "Damn it! I was a cop for twenty years! I've seen accident scenes! There weren't any skid marks! They didn't even try to stop!"

"But if they were drunk," I pointed out, dropping the can back on the ground alongside the other one. "They wouldn't have slowed down. They wouldn't have the reflexes…especially if they were speeding and it was dark and they just didn't see him."

"Then where the hell is he?" Henry interrupted, grinding the can spitefully beneath his shoe. "Innocent people don't run from accident scenes, Gus. And they sure as hell don't dispose of the body. They call the police. They get help. This was intentional."

"But—" I started to protest.

"No," he shook his head firmly, refusing to even listen. "It wasn't an accident. It couldn't have been."  
I stopped arguing. There wasn't any point.

I understood why it couldn't have been an accident, of course.

An accident was random.

And accident had no malice, no plan, no solution.

Henry couldn't have prepared against an accident like this, couldn't have protected Shawn from it.

An accident was something he was completely helpless against.

"I didn't say they were innocent," I said finally. "Not if they were drunk and not if they tried to get rid of the evidence…but it means we might not be looking for someone connected to a case. We might not be looking for someone who _wanted_ to kill him. We might have been going about this wrong from the beginning."

Henry's eyes narrowed stubbornly. I knew he was hearing me now, but he didn't want to be.

He still wanted to shoot someone between the eyes.

Not that I could blame him.

"The only thing a detective has that's worth a damn is perspective," I said quietly. "Clues…leads…they don't mean anything if you don't have perspective on the case."

He looked up at me, blinking in surprise.

I knew he recognized the lecture. He's probably said it a thousand times. Of course, he had probably also assumed that neither Shawn nor I had heard a word of it, since we usually didn't.

I grinned at him. "When I repeated that one at home, I got grounded for a week for saying 'damn'."

He just stared at me for a long moment, then finally shook his head. "Well, who the hell told you to repeat it at home?"

"No one," I shrugged. "But that's not the point…the point is, you were right. We lost perspective. We've been after someone who might not exist. It's at least _possible_ it was just an accident."

"No, it isn't!" he shouted back. "Gus, innocent people don't ditch bodies!"

"They do if they can't go to jail!" I shot back, my brain finally free to see it from a new angle. "Even if it was an accident, if they were drunk they were going to jail…and if it was someone with two strikes already…if they were trying to save their own skin…"

"Then what the hell did they do with their car?" Henry demanded. "A crash like that leaves major body damage, Gus. You can't drive around with a smashed front end without someone eventually asking questions."

My brain was working furiously, suddenly spitting out possible scenarios faster than I could process them.

"Get it repaired, I guess…" I suggested, but Henry was already waving that one off.

"No one brought in any cars to any garage in Santa Barbara for repairs like that today," he informed me. "I called around all morning. What the hell did you _think_ I was doing?"

"Then maybe they ditched the car," I shrugged. "Wouldn't that be easier? Just ditch it somewhere and report it stolen--"

I stopped right there.

For a moment, we just stared each other, both remembering the theft report that was now laying crumpled up on the floor of my car underneath Henry's gun.

I opened my mouth to say what we were both thinking, but I couldn't get it out.

I didn't want to get it out.

Suddenly, I wanted desperately for it to be a conspiracy.


	13. Chapter 13

Juliet wasn't smiling now.

I watched through the glass of the interrogation room as she once again sat across from Mike and Bill Donovan, frowning at the kid, who was slouching lazily in his chair.

Henry was standing next to me, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched every move Juliet made.

It hadn't taken as much convincing as I thought it would to get him to go to the police once we made the connection.

Actually, I didn't have to convince him at all. I just told him we were going and he came, though he spent the entire six minute car ride scowling down at the floor. I could see his mind forcing itself to synthesize the new information, turning it over again and again until it finally made sense. He had to re-think his myopic hatred of the person who had run his son over now…or at least the cold-blooded murder.

Chief Vick had spotted him the moment we walked into the precinct.

"Where the heck--?" she started to demand, coming up to us, but stopped herself from asking the question. I think when she saw the look on his face, she decided she didn't want to know.

We'd told her our theory of the case, and less than twenty minutes later we were watching the interrogation. The Chief wasn't happy about us being there, but she didn't bother trying to talk Henry out of it. She just stood next to us, her eyes fixed intently on the scene on the other side of the two-way mirror.

"Why did we have to come back?" Bill Donovan was asking. "Did you find my car?"

"Not yet," Juliet shook her head, her eyes locking with the sullen-looking teen's. "I just need some more information for my report."

Mike looked up at her, his bushy eyebrows raising slightly as he sat up in his chair. "What information?" he asked, not looking bored anymore.

Suddenly, he looked scared.

"Just some things I need cleared up," she shrugged breezily, though her demeanor and tone were far from friendly anymore. "A few pieces of your story just don't add up."

"What pieces?" he mumbled, leaning forward.

His father's eyes darted from him to Juliet then back again. He knew something was going on, but he didn't know what.

"Well," Juliet continued, leaning back in her chair coolly. "For starters, there's the issue of where you were studying last night."

"What do you mean?" Mike asked, glancing nervously at his father.

I couldn't tell for sure if it was the lighting or if he knew she knew, but his face turned a few shades whiter.

"I mean you said you were at your friend Robert's house when your car was stolen," Juliet told him, standing up. "But I talked to his parents to verify that…just standard procedure. And they said he was studying at your house."

"She's good, Karen," Henry murmured, watching her. "She knows what she's doing."

Karen smiled quietly and nodded. "I know."

His eyes shifted to the teenager again, and I could see his body tensing as the kid sputtered.

Chief Vick must have seen it, too, because she gently patted his arm. "Be patient, Henry. We're going to find him. He's going to be fine."

Her calm, even tone faltered almost imperceptibly on that last sentence, and I could tell she wasn't fully convinced of it herself. Like Henry and I, she was just clinging to that hope.

Mike's dad was frowning at him now, his apprehension growing by the moment. "What is she talking about, Mike?" he asked. "What the hell is going on? Where were you last night?"

Mike sunk down into his chair as Juliet stood over him, her normally bright eyes hardening. "What happened, Mike?" she asked quietly.

"Nothing!" Mike insisted, his voice cracking. "The car--!"

"It wasn't really stolen, was it?" she pressed on. "And you weren't really studying, either. Where were you?"

"Studying!"

"I have an officer on his way to pick up your friend," she informed him. "When he gets here, what do you think he's going to say? Do you think he's really going to back you up for long?"

Mike was completely white now. His mouth opened in silent protest, but he could actually find the words.

Juliet sat down again, leaning across the table.

Suddenly, she wasn't stern anymore. Her voice was gentle and urgent. "Mike…it was an accident, wasn't it?" she asked quietly.

"What was an accident?" his dad demanded, standing up. "What the hell is going on?"

She looked up at him. "Your son was involved in a car crash last night. We found some beer cans at the scene…we think he might of have been drinking. We think he ditched the car somewhere and lied about it being stolen so he wouldn't get in trouble."

"Drinking…?" his dad repeated. "Damn it, Mike! Did you go to that party last night? I told you--!"

"I didn't--!"

"We're not interested in the party!" Juliet snapped. "We just want to know what happened to the guy you hit!"

His dad froze, all the blood draining from his face. He fell into the chair again, stunned. "You_ hit_ someone?"

"No!" Mike insisted weakly, his hands trembling now. "I didn't--!"

"Mike," Juliet said softly. "His name is Shawn. The guy on the motorcycle. He works for the police…and he's my friend. I just want to know what happened to him. Tell me. Where is he?"

Mike shook his head fiercely, though he knew there was no point denying it anymore. "I--!"

"Mike, if you did something stupid, we can help you. But if you don't tell us where he is and he dies…"

She left the thought hanging there.

Nothing else needed to be said.

Mike looked at his father, then back at her.

"I didn't mean to do it," he mumbled finally, looking down at the table. "I didn't mean to do it…" 


	14. Chapter 14

When we were kids and Shawn decided to jump off his roof strapped to an old, flimsy blanket, he had ended up in the Emergency Room with a broken arm. While we were sitting there, waiting for the doctors to set it and for Henry to stop lecturing us about making responsible decisions, he had jabbed me with his good elbow.

"Why'd you let me do it?" he groaned, his broken arm hanging limply by his side.

"I didn't!" I argued, my stomach lurching. I wanted to look away from the sight, but I couldn't. "I told you it was stupid!"

"Well, next time don't let me jump!"

"I won't," I promised.

And I meant it.

As long as I lived, I never wanted to see him jump again…never wanted to hear the dull, horrible thud as he hit the ground…

Of course, two days later he had completely forgotten about the pain. He had completely forgotten about my promise.

But I never forgot.

For some reason, that was all I could think about as I stared down at the body on the ground in front of me. I just kept hearing Shawn's voice, full of pain and pleading…

_"Next time, don't let me jump…"_

Next to me, both Henry and Juliet had stopped breathing as the paramedics worked. It had only taken us fifteen minutes to find the place in the woods where the kid had dumped the smashed Impala and Shawn's body.

Once he started telling the truth, it only took Mike two minutes to tell Juliet everything. She just sat there, silently listening as he described every detail of running my best friend over and disposing of all the evidence. They didn't have a choice, Mike kept saying. They didn't have a choice. It was just an accident, but he and his fiend couldn't go to jail for drunk driving, couldn't explain the smashed car to his dad…so they just dumped Shawn and walked away and were never going to look back.

Like it never happened.

I could feel my stomach lurching again as the paramedics grew more frantic. Shawn's helmet had been removed by the kids, so I could see his pale, ashen face as he lay unmoving in the dirt facing the clear blue sky above. His eyes were closed, his lips parted slightly. There wasn't a mark on his body, but the first thing the paramedics had said when we arrived at the scene was that all his ribs were broken and his lungs were probably collapsing. His chest wasn't rising or falling, at least as far as I could tell.

They wouldn't let any of us get close enough to see for sure.

After less than ten seconds, the first paramedic looked up at the other one. Even before he spoke, I knew what he was going to say. I put my hands to my ears, trying to block out the sentence I knew was coming. I closed my eyes, wanting to throw up, wanting to scream, wanting this to all just be a bad dream.

But it didn't matter what I did.

I could still hear the voice, cutting through my denial like a knife.

"I can't find a pulse."


	15. Chapter 15

I forced my eyes open again.

The paramedic was still working, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as his fingers pressed against the flesh just next to Shawn's Adam's apple.

Next to me, Juliet was shaking. She was shaking her head in silent protest, but couldn't actually voice anything.

Henry had gone completely white, staring intently at the unmoving body.

"He has a pulse," he murmured, a hard, stubborn edge settling over his voice. "There's no rigor…he has a pulse. He has to. He's alive."

"I know," I croaked hoarsely, wanting desperately for it to be true. "I know."

My brain couldn't even comprehend the alternative that Shawn was dead.

That it all ended like this.

That my best friend, who had survived jumping from roofs, parasailing, bungee jumping and on at least six occasions eating questionable three-week-old chicken salad, could be killed by a drunk kid who just didn't see him.

It just wasn't possible.

"Goddamn it, Shawn!" Henry exploded a moment later, making me jump. "For once in your damn life, just listen to me!"

He took an angry step towards his son, and for a moment I thought he was going to grab Shawn by the collar and yank him to his feet, but he just stopped dead after that single step. I saw him deflate right there, every ounce of energy and strength he had fleeing his body as he stared helplessly down at the body in the dirt.

In that moment, I knew he was dying just as quickly as Shawn.

"Damn it, Shawn," he said again, his voice barely audible over the gently wafting breeze that stirred the leaves. "Just listen to me."

The second paramedic looked up at that moment, nodding at him. "I found it…it's there. It's faint…but he has a pulse."

Henry exhaled, seemingly for the first time all day.

Next to me, Juliet exhaled, too. Even her breathing was trembling, and when I glanced over at her I noticed her hands were, as well.

I was afraid to even think about my own shaky hands.

The paramedics didn't notice any of this, however, as they were too busy securing Shawn's neck in a brace and getting him into the ambulance.

Henry turned back to me. "He's alive."

"I know."

I know it's stupid to even think it…and yet, I can't help thinking it.

I know Henry was thinking it at that moment, too.

For the first time in his life, Shawn was listening to someone.


	16. Chapter 16

Henry rode to the hospital in the back of the ambulance. There wasn't actually enough room for both him and the two paramedics, but they didn't challenge him when he jumped in.

I wanted to force my way in, too, but I settled for riding with Juliet. She could get us to the hospital a lot faster with her siren blaring than I could in my Echo.

Her eyes were fixed steadily on the road as we sped down the highway, still trailing behind the ambulance. We didn't speak for the first six minutes, our minds too preoccupied with the unspoken fears and doubts still hanging between us to say anything. Her hands were still shaking, but her breathing had steadied.

Finally, she looked over at me, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears she was still fighting to hold back. "I'm sorry, Gus," she said quietly.

"Sorry?" I blinked in surprise. "For what?"

"I had him right there…at the station. We could have found Shawn hours ago, but I didn't see it. I didn't think the kid…" she paused, her words trailing off as her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "I didn't think he was a suspect."

I could already see where this was going. I tried to head it off, but she wasn't even listening to me. She didn't even know I was there.

"Jules--"

"Oh, God," she moaned. "I was smiling at him. He left Shawn to die, and I sat there smiling at him like an idiot while he lied to my face."

"Jules!" I cut her off, placing a hand on her shoulder. "You didn't know. It's your job. You did everything you could."

She shook her head, sighing heavily. "I should have seen it sooner. I was at the scene. I saw the same beer cans you did. I had the same theft report. I just didn't make the connection. If he dies and a few hours could have saved his life…"

"It still won't be your fault," I interjected. "The kid could have come clean the first time. And you're the one who finally got him to confess."

She nodded slightly, but I could tell that wasn't much of a consolation.

"I wanted to punch him, Gus…" she murmured. "He's just a kid, but when he was telling me how he just dumped my friend's body in the woods and walked away, I wanted to punch him in the face."

"I wanted to put a bullet through his head," I told her honestly.

It sounded strange, confessing that out loud.

"I could have…" I continued, looking down at the car floor. "I thought about it. Before I called you, I wanted to track him down myself..."

She glanced over at me again, looking surprised by the revelation. "Why didn't you?"

I shrugged, still not sure of the answer myself.

Part of my still wanted to kill the kid.

"Because I didn't have to," I offered finally. "I knew I wasn't the only one looking for Shawn. I knew you had his back, too."


	17. Chapter 17

By the time we got to the hospital, Shawn was already in surgery. Henry was in the waiting room, pacing back and forth with the urgency of a man ready to spring into action on a moment's notice.

"How's he doing?" I asked the moment Juliet and I walked in, beating her to the question by half a breath.

Henry stopped pacing, blinking slowly as he forced himself out of his own head and back into reality. "Still breathing."

I nodded.

For the moment, that was enough.

He collapsed into a chair, finally letting the strain begin to take a visible toll.

Juliet and I didn't sit. We just stood in the middle of the waiting room like two statues, waiting for something to happen.

Waiting for someone to tell us Shawn was going to be okay and our lives could get back to normal.

Chief Vick came about ten minutes later. She immediately walked over to Henry, taking the seat next to him.

"What did the doctor's say?" she asked quietly.

He shrugged limply. "They won't know anything for a while."

She nodded, hesitating before pushing on with her real purpose for coming. "Henry…I need you to come back down to the station," she admitted finally, looking down at the floor so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry, but the DA can't indict the kid without your statement."

She glanced up at me, almost looking apologetic. "You, too, Mr. Guster. You both put the case together, and you were there when the kid confessed. We can't close this until…"

Henry shook his head, his feet anchoring themselves stubbornly to the floor. "I can't leave, Karen. Not now."

"It won't take long, Mr. Spencer." Juliet piped up, stepping forward. "And Shawn won't be awake for while. He won't even be out of surgery for at least another hour. I'll stay here until you get back, and I promise I'll call if I hear anything."

Henry hesitated, but Juliet was adamant. "I'm not going anywhere, Mr. Spencer. Trust me."

Henry raised an eyebrow at her, but she didn't even blink. She just returned his sharp, incisive gaze with one of her own.

Finally, Henry stood up slowly. I recognized the slight half-nod he shot her as he followed Karen out of the hospital.

I don't think Juliet even noticed the gesture, but I knew what it meant. It was the same nod I had gotten on the first day of Kindergarten, when I had come home with Shawn after school. It meant that on some subliminal level he would never admit he had, Henry approved.

I followed them out to Karen's car, and we were back at the station in less than eight minutes.

"We can go into Room C," she told us, pointing us towards the interrogation rooms as she went in the other direction towards her office. "Give me one minute to call the DA, and I'll be right in to take your statements. I'll have you back at the hospital as soon as I can, Henry. I promise."

She disappeared into her office, and we walked down the familiar corridor to the interrogation room. As we passed Room A, however, Henry looked through the glass, freezing as he saw Mike Donovan inside. The kid was sitting alone, pale and trembling, his back to the door as he stared down at the floor.

I froze, too, watching Henry's face, trying to anticipate what he was going to do. His fists had already clenched into tight, white-knuckled balls and his breathing had suddenly slowed into a dull, controlled growl.

He took a step towards the door, and I instinctively grabbed his shoulder, knowing I was probably taking my life in my hands.

He whirled around, his shoulders trembling with silent rage.

"Gus. Let go."

He didn't shout it. It was the opposite of shouting, in fact. His voice was quiet, but I could hear the danger lurking in every pronounced syllable.

"But--"

"Gus." He snapped again, twisting my wrist painfully as he wrenched free of my grasp. "Let go."

He threw my hand aside and spun on his heel, slamming the door to the interrogation room behind him before I could even react. The sound reverberated off the walls like a gunshot. I wanted to go after him, to stop him from doing something stupid…but I just stood there, frozen in place, staring through the glass as he walked up behind the kid, who was still completely unaware of his presence.


	18. Chapter 18

_How could he not hear the door slam? _

It was all that was running through my mind as Henry approached the kid, who still wasn't moving or even seemingly even aware there was anyone else in the room with him.

Why wasn't he turning around?

How could he not have heard the door?

I stepped up to the glass, flicking the speaker on so I could hear what was about to happen.

I resisted the impulse to follow Henry in. Whatever he did, I couldn't stop him now even if I wanted to.

I was still clinging to the feeble, almost desperate, hope that I wouldn't have to.

Mike suddenly turned around when Henry was two steps away from him. He blinked, clearly surprised to see someone else in the room with him.

"Who--?" he started to ask, But Henry wasn't in any mood to make small-talk.

"Just tell me one thing," he growled, kicking the chair opposite him out and sliding into it. "When you hit my son with your car and left him for dead, how much time did you spend actually thinking about calling for help?"

The kid's mouth dropped open in shock at the point-blank, angry demand, but he couldn't even utter a syllable.

Not that Henry wanted to hear anything from him, anyway.

"I mean it!" he snapped a moment later, not giving Mike enough time to respond even if he wanted to. "I want to know how much thought my son's life is worth. Ten seconds? Five? Did it even occur to you at all? Or did you just dump him the second it happened?"

Mike was shaking his head adamantly now, the color returning to his sallow cheeks as he finally managed to get a word out.

"I didn't—I mean—I thought about it!"

"And you decided what?" Henry shouted, standing up again, almost knocking his chair over. "That his life was less important than yours? That it was just easier for him to die than for you to fess up and deal with the consequences?"

"No! I just--" Mike stopped himself, looking down at the table again. I could hear the strain in his voice, the regret.

It was just a stupid accident that went too far.

And he was going to jail for a long time. Nothing could stop that now.

In one night, in one moment, he had ruined his entire life and very nearly destroyed four others. And he knew it.

Henry groaned, sitting down again. The anger had dissipated from his demeanor now, replaced by a world-weary exhaustion.

"I thought he was dead," he said so quietly the speaker scarcely picked up the words. "I spent twelve hours thinking my son was dead. Do you have any idea what the hell that feels like? To spend twelve hours not being able to think about anything but putting a bullet through the son of a bitch's head who murdered your son?"

"No," Mike whispered hoarsely, closing his eyes. "I don't. I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"

"You didn't mean to hit him," Henry cut him off, his tone stronger and suddenly ice cold. "That was an accident. But you meant to leave him to die. You _meant_ to do that. You had a choice."

Mike leaned across the table, meeting Henry's gaze steadily for the first time. His eyes were bloodshot and ringed with black circles, but they were pleading and absolutely sincere.

"I'm sorry…I don't know what else--" he stopped, inhaling sharply as the emotions washed over him. "If I could take it back…"

"Would you?" Henry asked quietly, leaning forward, his eyes penetrating through Mike like a hot knife. "Would you take it back if you could?"

For a long moment, Mike didn't answer.

"I have to know," Henry pressed on. "You owe me that much. If you could go back and change it all, would you? Or would you just not get caught?"

Mike nodded slowly. "I'd change it…all of it. If I could get that one moment back…"

Henry smiled palely to himself, suddenly adrift in a memory Mike couldn't have guessed at if he tried.

I had a sneaking suspicion I knew what Henry was remembering as he gazed around at the walls of the interrogation room where he had spent most his career and Shawn had spent one particularly devastating night as a teenager.

"That's the thing about moments, Kid…" he murmured, standing up again. "You can't get them back. I know. I've tried."


	19. Chapter 19

Chief Vick came up the hallway just as Henry was stepping out of the interrogation room after his talk with the kid. She breezed past us, pretending not to notice him shutting the door behind him.

"Come on, gentlemen," she said commandingly, opening the door to Room C. "I want to get you back to the hospital."

She had a small smile on her face as we followed her into the room, and for some reason I suddenly realized that she had to have known the kid was in there when she sent up the corridor alone.

She had to have known Henry would see him…

I shook my head and took a seat, slightly confused.

I never asked her about it. I didn't have to. That small smile told me everything.

I think…

Anyway, she was true to her word and we were back at the hospital in less than an hour. As promised, Juliet was still waiting when we got back. She was curled up in one of the hard, blue plastic chairs, her shoes kicked off underneath as she rested her head on her knees. She looked up as we walked back in, shaking her head.

"No news yet. I'm sorry."

Henry nodded and sat down next to her. "I know. You didn't call."

She smiled at him, and for a moment I saw her hand come off of her knee, almost as if she was going to pat his leg sympathetically, but she stopped herself at the last moment, though her smile didn't fade. She just wrapped her arms around her knees again and sighed, watching him.

I sat on the other side of her so she was between me and Henry, slouching tiredly in my chair. I felt like I could fall asleep the moment I shut my eyes, but I was terrified to shut my eyes. Until Shawn was out of surgery and I heard the doctors actually say he was okay, I knew he wasn't out of the woods. I couldn't risk missing anything.

Not again.

According to the timetable the kid gave us, he had been lying dead in a ditch for at least ten hours before I even knew he was missing.  
Ten hours.

It was a miracle he hadn't died of exposure, not to mention the head injury…

I was just praying the miracle lasted a little longer…just until he was out of surgery…

Juliet was staring off into the distance, and I could tell she was thinking about him.

Of course she was.

That's why she was there.

That's why we were all there.

A doctor came out a moment later, catching Henry's eye immediately. "Mr. Spencer?"

"Yeah," Henry nodded, standing up.

The doctor nodded grimly at him. "Can you come with me, please? We have to talk."

Henry followed, for once not questioning. For once not demanding an explanation.

He just followed.

Juliet sighed again once we were alone, and I suddenly remembered what she had said about it being her fault…about not catching the kid soon enough…

She was still thinking it. I could tell.

I cleared my throat, shooting her as subtle a sideways glance as I could manage. "Hey, Jules…" I grinned, nudging her.

"Huh?" she asked, looking up at me, blinking back into the reality from whatever world her mind had been creating around her.

I nodded at a plaque across the waiting room that had caught my eye earlier. It was a picture of a stern-looking man with a white beard. Underneath it was the inscription Dr. Melvin K. Munkipantts.

"What?" she asked, squinting at it.

"His name, Jules…" I pressed on. "His name is Melvin Munkipannts."

"No way!" she snorted, looking again. She laughed when she finally saw it. "No way!"

I nodded, actually laughing myself.

It felt strange, actually finding something funny….but I didn't have a choice at that point.

Neither of us did.

His name was Melvin Munkipantts.

"That can't be real! It sounds like a name Shawn would make up!" she laughed, her shoulders rocking so hard she had to stop and catch her breath.

"Actually, I think he did use it once," I commented.

"Really? When?"

"On the Stevenson case," I shrugged. "When we were checking out…uh--" I stopped myself, clearing my throat as I suddenly remembered the semi-illegal breaking and entering that fake name had entailed. "Never mind."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to bust you for investigating, Gus."

"I know."

She smiled, shaking her head in quiet amusement. "It just sounds like a name he'd make up…"

"Yeah."

"He would've had it figure out sooner, too. Wouldn't he?" she asked quietly, looking over at me.

I nodded.

What was I supposed to say?

We both knew it was true.

"Probably."

"He always just…knows," she sighed. "It's incredible."

"I know," I agreed.

"He's acts like such an immature clown sometimes…" she pressed on, her voice growing more distant. "Sometimes, I don't think he knows which way is up. Sometimes, I don't know how he even figured out how to operate a door. But then he'll say something so brilliant…something that just cuts through all the crap and all the pointless, useless details…"

"Yeah," I nodded. "Sometimes I can't tell if he's an idiot or a genius. And I've known him my entire life."

"Sometimes I don't know if he's the biggest pain in the butt I've ever met or my best friend."

I looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. "Trust me. He's both."


	20. Chapter 20

It was three more hours before Henry came back out to tell us what was going on. For most of that time, we just sat there, occasionally breaking the silence with a half-hearted assurance everything would be okay or a funny story about Shawn.

It was starting to feel disconcertingly like a wake.

Finally, Henry came out again. I stood up, my mouth opening to ask him what was going on, but I didn't have the will to voice it.

I just didn't have the stomach for the answer.

He saw the look on my face, however, and answered without me having to actually to say anything. "They won't know for sure for a few hours…but he came through surgery okay. He's still alive. He's still alive."

That had become our silent, internal chant…he's still alive.

He's still alive.

"Good," I nodded, relief flooding though my veins like warm salve.

He gestured over his shoulder, back in the direction he had come from. "I have to meet with the doctors…they don't usually let non-family members in the ICU, but I convinced them to let you sit with him until I get back. If he wakes up…"

"I'm there," I agreed quickly, not even having to think about it.

"How did you--?" Juliet started ask, but stopped when Henry flashed her a look that communicated everything she needed to know about his persuasion tactics.

She didn't know him well enough yet to know just how scary he could be, but I think she was starting to get the picture.

"Oh."

"They finally relented on Gus because he's known Shawn his whole life," Henry continued, his hard gaze softening ever so slightly as he looked at her. "But they won't bend on cop co-workers."

"That's okay," she smiled, brushing a strand of disheveled blonde hair behind her ear. "I understand. He's alive. That's enough for now."

She glanced down at her watch, as if realizing for the first time how long she had been there. "I have cases I have to work on, anyway…but, I'll be back later, Mr. Spencer. I promise. Call me if anything changes."

"I will," he nodded, his tone flat but sincere.

As she left, she waved good-bye with only her fingers, lifting her hand just above her waist before curling them into a fist and dropping them by her side again; almost as if she had thought about waving but changed her mind halfway through the gesture.

Henry didn't return the wave, but his eyes silently followed her until she disappeared from sight.

"Gus," he said finally once we were alone, turning back to me. "It's not good."

"I know," I returned quietly, surprised that I actually meant it. Despite his cool demeanor and even-tone, I had sensed something from the moment he had come back…something in his eyes, in the way each step was carefully measured and plodding.

The conversation he had just had with the doctors, that he was about to have again, hadn't been good news.

"Is he--?" I started to ask, the lump in my throat choking out the end of the question.

"I don't know," he shook his head. "The next few hours are critical…that's why I need you in there with Shawn. Damn doctors won't let me--" he paused, sighing. "Damn doctors don't know anything, Gus."

"They're morons," I agreed quietly. "I'll stay with him until you get back."

"Thanks," he mumbled, his slow steps once again drifting away from me back into the ICU.

"Try not to make them cry," I called after him in a lame, ill-advised attempt at humor.

He ignored it, thankfully…or maybe he just didn't hear it.

Either way, I was momentarily spared a Henry Spencer Glare of Contempt.

* * *

Shawn's room was completely dark.

Almost pitch black, in fact.

As I walked it, I wasn't even positive I had the right room. That is, until I saw him. Even in the dim half-light, I could see his figure lying perfectly still in the bed. His head was wrapped tightly in bandages, his face stark white against the darkness…almost like a ghost.

"Hey, Shawn," I whispered, approaching his bed. "It's me. Gus."

I felt like a complete and utter idiot. I knew I sounded like one, too…but I didn't know what else to say.

How was I supposed to talk to my dying best friend?

He probably couldn't even hear me, anyway.

I laughed to myself as I reached his bedside and looked down at him. Not because the sight was even remotely funny. The sight made me want to throw up and run away…but as I stood there in the dark, listening to the rhythmic beeping of the machines around me, I couldn't help but imagine what Shawn would say if he _could_ hear me blathering like a moron.

_"Dude…I know it's you. I'm psychic, remember?_

Then he would grin and wiggle his eyebrows at me, bringing his fingers up to his temple in that stupid fake psychic pose he thought made him look so cool.

Of course, I would roll my eyes and probably punch him in the arm. "Shut up, Shawn."

_"What?"_ he would laugh, shrugging off my attack like it hadn't hurt at all when we both knew he was going to be bruised for a week. "_Like it's my fault you can't think of anything to say?"_

"I have plenty to say!" I actually argued out loud, for a moment forgetting Shawn hadn't really said anything.

He was still unconscious, hovering precariously on this side of life.

After another long moment of painful silence, I could hear him laughing again.

_"Oh, yeah, Gus!" _he was snorting, his eyes sparkling with that intense pleasure he got from pissing me off._ "You're just full of sparkling wit! Seriously…you could have at least brought a joke book…or those funny stories people send into Reader's Digest…something! I'm unconscious, here! You could at least make me laugh!"_

"I'm sorry," I apologized numbly. His voice was so clear in my mind that I had to keep looking back down at him to make sure it wasn't real. "I don't have anything, Shawn."

He just shrugged lazily, cocking an eyebrow at me as he stretched out and put his arms behind his head.

_"Dude…" _he murmured tiredly. "_Getting hit by a car sucks."_

"I know."

_"Please tell me you at least caught the little weasel. He left enough clues."_

"Yeah…" I assured him, not sure anymore if either of use were talking out loud…not sure if either of us were even real. "We caught him."

He nodded, closing his eyes.

_"I knew you would…"_

"Shawn--"

He waved off whatever I was about to say.

Even my Subconscious-Shawn didn't want to have this conversation.

_"I'm not dying, Gus."_

"I know."

_"I'm not,"_ he insisted. _"You know I'm too cool to die. Look at my hair, Gus! Look at the body! Do you really think people with body like this die in motorcycle accidents? Come on, now!"_

I laughed out loud.

It was such a stupid thing to think…and yet, I knew it was exactly what Shawn would say. He had always secretly been convinced that his awesome hair was a free-pass for life. As long as he had his hair, nothing could bring him down.

"Right, Shawn," I agreed, closing my eyes so I could hear his voice in my mind for just a moment longer.

_"Seriously, Dude…" he pressed on. "I'm not dying."_

"I know."

_"…But…"_ he added a moment later.

"What?" I asked, foolishly opening my eyes, as if I actually expected to see him sitting up talking to me.

_"Do me a favor before I wake up."_

"What?"

He laughed, returning my previous punch in the arm with one of his own.

I actually felt his fist smack my shoulder. I touched it delicately, convinced there would be a bruise there by morning.

Of course, it didn't feel like a bruise…

_"Stop talking to yourself…you're starting to freak me out."_


	21. Chapter 21

I wish I could say Shawn woke up that night and everything just went back to normal within a day or two, or even within a week.

But that's not how it happened.

He woke up the next day, but everything didn't go back to normal. He didn't remember anything about the night of the accident, or even the day surrounding it. He couldn't get out of bed for the first week because of the broken bones in his right leg. He had a large cast on that leg that went all the way up to his thigh. He also couldn't even stay awake for more than a few hours at a time, and the brief intervals when he was awake he was groggy and almost incoherent. He was in constant pain from his head injury and his broken ribs and leg, which made him more on-edge than usual, though most of the time he couldn't muster the energy to be overtly belligerent and hostile. He just wasn't…himself. He didn't crack jokes or smile or have the Devil-may-care glint in his eye that told the world he had mastered life, bring on the next challenge.

He just sat in the bed, staring blankly at the wall, a sullen, angry look contorting his face into a sneer instead of an impish grin.

I was at the hospital everyday, but by the second week I was starting to lose hope.

Would I ever get my friend back?

Physically, he was getting better quickly. He could hobble around his room relatively easily after a week if he used the crutches the doctors had given him, and the doctors thought he would be able to go home after three. But mentally, he was just…different.

He was still sharp, still had his memory…but he didn't care.

He never even mentioned Psych once.

One day about a week and half after the accident, he finally snapped. Henry was getting him lunch, so we were just waiting in the stony silence I had grown accustom to. Shawn just didn't have the energy or the desire to talk and I had given up trying to make him.

After about five minutes of neither of us speaking, he dropped his feet off the edge of the bed, wincing as he grabbed his crutches and forced himself to his feet.

"Do you need something?" I asked, standing up. "I can--"

"I can get it myself, Gus," he snapped through clenched teeth, slowly making his way across the room to the small desk, inhaling sharply with each step. He grabbed his wallet off of the desk and opened it up. I don't know what he was looking for, but after a few seconds of searching it was obvious it wasn't there.

"Damn it!" he growled, throwing it on the floor in frustration. I instinctively went to pick it up, but he stopped me with a sharp scowl. "If I want it, I can pick it up myself, Gus!"

"I was just trying--" I started to argue, but he wasn't in the mood to listen to reason.

"I know what you were trying to do!" he shouted, his ears burning red with frustrated anger. "You were just trying to treat me like a damn baby! I'm not a damn baby, Gus! I can take care of myself, so just leave me the hell alone!"

I sat back down in the chair under the TV, trying not let on I was hurt by his outburst.

I knew he didn't mean anything by it…I knew he was just frustrated and in pain, but this was the tenth time in two days he had yelled at me, and I was starting to get tired of it.

I felt guilty for even thinking that way, but I couldn't help it.

This wasn't Shawn.

This wasn't my best friend.

I watched as he struggled to bend down to pick up his wallet, his good leg trembling with the painful strain of balancing his entire weight. A loud groan escaped his lips as he finally got low enough to the floor to wrap his fingers around the wallet, but his face suddenly grew pale and I could tell he was about to pass out. I quickly stood up again and managed to get to him before he hit the floor.

I helped him back to his bed and sat him back down. He sat perfectly still for a full five minutes, his breathing coming in short gasps as he tried to fight back the pain.

Finally, the pain won out.

"Damn it!" he shouted again, throwing one of his crutches furiously across the room. It narrowly missed my head, but I somehow managed to duck out of the way in the nick of time.

Shawn didn't seem to even notice. His eyes were frenzied and filled with bitter agony as he hurled the other crutch soon after the first.

"Damn it, Gus! Why the hell didn't you just leave me in the woods?" he shouted, collapsing back onto his pillow, his face as white as a sheet now.

"Shawn—!"

"Next time," he cut me off, his eyes clenching shut as the pain only intensified to the point that his entire body was trembling. "Next time, just let me die, Gus."


	22. Chapter 22

Things didn't get any better over the next few days. Shawn didn't shout at me like that again, and he never mentioned dying again, but he was still sullen and depressed.

I just didn't know what else to do anymore.

I got my answer a few days later.

Apparently, I didn't have to anything.

I was coming up to his room after spending eight hours catching up on my route. I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open, but I couldn't go home before I stopped in to see Shawn, whether he admitted he wanted me there or not. I stopped just outside his room when I heard another voice inside.

It was Juliet.

I wasn't shocked to find her there. She had seen him almost every day, when she could get away from Lassiter and the department long enough to visit. I'd tried not to notice that he was never quite as short with her as he was with Henry and me.

"How are you feeling?" she was asking, so I knew she hadn't been there long.

I don't know why, but I didn't go in the room. I stood just outside, out of view, listening to the conversation.

I could see Shawn in the bed through the crack between the hinge and the door. He was sitting up, looking slightly less pale than he had been over the last few days. Juliet was sitting next to him, her hand resting gently on his cast.

He just shrugged, not answering for a full minute.

"I'm fine," he said finally, not convincing even himself of this.

"How's the pain?" she pressed on, looking into his eyes, deeply concerned.

Shawn returned the look, then closed his eyes and settled back into the pillow.

"It hurts like hell, Jules. I can't take it anymore."

"I know," she whispered, her hand traveling up his leg and softly settling on his thigh. "I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do."

"There isn't," he shook his head, opening his eyes again. "It's not getting any better. I can walk, I can move…but it's so damn hard and it just…hurts. Every inch of my body every second of every day."

"I'm sorry, Shawn. It's going to get better."

"I don't want it to get better, Jules," he mumbled, sitting up again. "I just want it to stop. Now. I want to go back in time and stop Gus from finding me."

She gasped, her eyes growing wide at the thought. "Shawn!" she snapped, smacking his arm in a gesture that was both angry and sympathetic. "Don't talk like that!"

"Why not?" he demanded. "It'd be better than this. I can't do anything! I can't ride my bike, which is destroyed anyway. I can't work on cases. I can't even walk down the hallway and back again without blacking out."

"It's not better, Shawn!" she actually shouted, her cheeks flushing. "Do you have any idea what it was like when I thought you were dead?"

She stopped, her eyes suddenly glistening just a little.

She didn't cry. She was too strong for that…but the tears were waiting somewhere inside, ready to come out the second her strength finally cracked.

"Do you have any idea what it was like when I saw your bike at that scene?"

Shawn didn't have an immediate response to that. He settled back into the pillow again, his eyes not leaving her for moment.

"The kid didn't care what it did to you, Jules," he said quietly. "The kid didn't give a crap if I died. He just…left me there. I wasn't even worth a 9-1-1 call. It's three numbers, Jules."

"I'm not the kid, Shawn." She said firmly. "Gus and your dad aren't the kid. We went through Hell looking for you, and if I ever hear you say you wish we didn't find you again, I'll smack you. Hard."

Shawn laughed. "Fine. I won't say it."

She smiled at him, her hand finding his good knee. "Don't even think it. I don't even want to think about it."

"I won't," he promised, and I could tell he meant it.

I turned around and slowly started back down the hall.

I didn't know what to think at this point, what to feel.

She had told him everything I had tried to tell him, and he'd actually listened to her. He hadn't listened to me since the accident.

I wasn't mad at her for that, of course. How could I be? She was there for him just as much as I was. She always had been. He needed her.

I just wasn't used to not being the only voice of reason Spencers would sometimes listen to.


	23. Chapter 23

I didn't go back to the hospital for three days.

I'm not proud of that fact, but I didn't need to go. Shawn didn't need me, and his constant yelling over the last month had made it pretty clear he didn't really want me there.

I guess I just finally starting believing him.

I was planning to go back. Really. I couldn't have stayed away much longer, even if Henry hadn't called me on that third morning.

"Gus, he's back in surgery."

That's all he said to me. No introduction, no instructions. Just, "He's back in surgery."

Of course, I didn't need instructions. I was already heading out the door.

"What happened?" I asked, already halfway to my car. .

Henry sighed. "One of the rods they put in his leg isn't healing right, so they have to go in and re-set it. They said he's pushing himself too hard…damn kid doesn't know when to stop."

I couldn't help smiling to myself, but I didn't actually dare point out that he shared this trait with his father.

Something told me Henry wouldn't find that observation as funny as I did.

"I'm on my way."

Henry was still waiting for him to come out of surgery when I got to the hospital, pacing the floor like he had the night they'd brought Shawn in.

He stopped when he saw me, our eyes locking across the room. "Where the hell have you been?" he demanded.

I froze in place like a deer caught in the headlights. I knew he wasn't asking why it had taken me so long to get there. He was asking why I hadn't been there in three days.

"I've been busy."

Henry's sharp eyes sliced through the lie as it traveled through the air, ripping it to shreds before it even reached his ears.

He didn't buy it for a second.

Oddly enough, however, he didn't call me on it. For the first time in my life, he just let me lie to his face.

He sighed and sat down, his eyes still following me as I crossed the waiting room and sat next to him.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Finally, he sat back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. "He was asking where you were," he said quietly. "Before he went in. He wanted to call you."

I looked down at the floor, the guilt-knife twisting even deeper in my back. "He said that?"

"No," Henry snorted. "His exact words were that he didn't give a damn if Captain Poopy-pants was here or not."

I laughed despite myself. It was the first Shawn-like thing he'd said since the accident…even if it was a dig at me.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled.

Henry shrugged. "Why?"

"I should have been here."

"Gus, you've always been there. Ever since he dragged you home with him after the first day of Kindergarten. You stood by him through every stupid stunt he's ever pulled. And he's pulled a lot of them. Even when he took off for three years and never looked back, you were still here. You called me every damn day to see if I'd heard anything from him. You're entitled to day off every now and then."

"I didn't want a day off!" I insisted. "He's my best friend! I just--"

I stopped. There just wasn't any way to finish that sentence.

Henry nodded. "I know. You saved his life, Gus…even though he'll never say it. You saved his life."

"Yeah," I snorted, rolling my eyes. "I did. But he doesn't give a damn."

Henry's eyes locked with mine, his intense gaze seeing straight through to my soul. "Maybe not…" he agreed. "But I do."

* * *

Shawn finally came out of surgery an hour later. I was by his bed when he woke up.

Henry hadn't argued at all when the doctors told us only one of us could go in.

"Hey, Gus…" he grinned weakly as he finally blinked his way into consciousness, his eyes still glazed from the anesthesia. "Where have you been?"

I just shrugged. "Never mind."

"Dude," he grinned, arching a suggestive eyebrow at me. "Was she hot?"

I laughed. "Yeah. She was hot."

"Sweet."

He stopped laughing, suddenly looking serious even in his barely-awake state. "I forgot…" he murmured after a moment, his words slurring together into a single, drug-induced syllable. "I'm not talking to you. Abandoner."

"Yeah," I nodded, sitting down in the chair across the room from him. "Your dad told me. Captain Poopy-pants, Shawn? Really? You haven't called me that since third grade."

"Actually, ninth grade," he corrected me, raising a single finger. "That may be the reason Stephanie Nelson wouldn't talk to you…"

"You told me she said I was too short!"

He grinned, for the first time since the accident looking something like himself. "I lied."

I rolled my eyes. "You're a jerk, Shawn."

"Yeah, yeah…you're an abandoner…er…er."

His voice trailed off as a nurse walked into the room, carrying a silver clipboard. "Mr. Spencer?" she asked, making some notes on the chart as she walked over to his heart monitor.

"No," Shawn shook his head, his eyes sparkling as he glanced at me from across the room. "I'm Barnaby St. Gloster. This is my colleague, Slick McNichols."

The nurse lowered the clipboard, staring at Shawn with a look of complete bewilderment. "How many painkillers did they give you?" she asked.

"Why?" Shawn blinked. "Are you going to give me more?"

I just laughed.

For the first time since I noticed Shawn was missing, the horrible lump in my stomach that told me something was very, very wrong was starting to fade away.


End file.
